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a^oVANITAS 




PAUL ELDRIDGE 




Class _i__ ±h 
Book <L 4 \/c 



Copyright^ \ °) I 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



-* 



VAN ITAS 



BY 

PAUL ELDRIDGE 




BOSTON 

THE STRATFORD CO., 'Publishers 

1920 



4&W 



Copyright 1920 

The STRATFORD CO., Publisher 

Boston, Mass. 



4 « 

I 1 



The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



JUN-I 1920 
©SI. A 5 701 7 7 

•v, I 



VANITAS 



A Sylvia, — vanite exquise 

One can sing of beautiful things, 
For beautiful things are not perfect; 
One cannot sing of Beauty herself, 
For Beauty and Perfection are One. . . 
How, then, shall I sing of my Love? 



Contents 








Part I 


My Thoughts 1 


I Dream 








4 


Invitation to a Funeral 








. 5 


The Forgetful Owls . 








. 7 


The Daisy Speaks 








8 


Faces and Souls . 








10 


Time's Castanets 








12 


My Days Pass Me By . 








. 13 


My Hopes .... 








. 14 


My Sweetheart Dreams 








. 16 


A Picture .... 








17 


Douleur .... 








18 


Modesty .... 








19 


Frivolity Punished 








20 


Weariness . 








21 


Shadows 








22 


Gloria Mundi 








23 


You Pass Me On . 








24 


You Were So Pure 








26 


The Bachelor 








28 


Success 








30 



CONTENTS 

Atlas 93 

Snow 95 

The Wind 96 

Rain-Storm 97 

Part III 

FINALE 

When I Am Dead . . . . .100 

An Epitaph 102 

The Sphinx . 102 



vm 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT 



Thanks are due to the editors of the various 
magazines and newspapers for permission 
to reprint in this volume many of the poems 
previously published by them. 



My Thoughts 

My thoughts are little clowns, 
Irreverent and merry, 
That stick their tongues 
To Sun and Moon, 
And laugh at Men and Gods. 

My thoughts are silver flutes, 
Playing strange romanzas 
In my ears, 
That make me dream 
And weep. 

My thoughts are shaven monks 
That count their rosaries 
Listlessly 
Forever. 

My thoughts are flocks of blackbirds 
That turn in endless circles, 
And caw — and caw. 

My thoughts are tiny Jovelets 
In atom skies, 

[1] 



V A N I T A S 

Ruling cosmos 
For a Breath's 
Eternity. 

My thoughts are flakes of snow 
That fall and fall, 
And vanish — 
Or turn to mud. 

My thoughts are timorous mice 
Gnawing at Illusions, 
Afraid of Truth, 
The grey-eyed Cat. 

My thoughts are blue-rimmed lakes, 
And Earth and Sky, 
Voluptuous women 
Come bathing there. 

My thoughts are tremulous echoes 

Of far-off drums 

The stars are beating on 

With silver rays. 

My thoughts are red hyenas 
That dig within my heart 
And munch its memories, 
And laugh. 

[2] 



V AN I T A S 

My thoughts are cemeteries 
"Where wander nightly 
White-sheeted ghosts 
That wail and moan. 

My thoughts — 

How well for me, 

They are so deeply hidden 

In the circus of my brain ! 



[3] 



V A N I T A S 



I Dream 

Life gallops by like a mad horse — 

But I sit at the window and dream — 

I dream of still marble oceans like giant 

sarcophagi 
Bordered with tall alabaster trees whose ebony 

shadows 
Cut fantastic caves across their bosoms. 

Life howls like a wild hurricane — 

But I sit at the window and dream — 

I dream of vast solitary skies, like sapphire 

deserts, 
Where dead black moons and dead black stars, 

blind sphinxes, 
Squat in echoless eternity. 

Life sings like a drunken bird, 

But I sit at the window and dream — 

I dream of her dead eyes. . . . 



[4] 



V AN I T A S 



Invitation to a Funeral 

Tomorrow I bury my dead hopes. 

Tomorrow at high noon, 

When all things are flushed with life, 

I shall bury them. 

I have stretched them all out, 

Side by side, 

Delicate, exquisite hopes. 

I have caressed them for the last time. 

They lie so still and white, ■ — 

They seem asleep, 

Dreaming of quiet lakes, 

And thin long shadows of trees. . . . 

Tomorrow I shall dig a very deep grave 

"Within my heart, 

And bury my dead hopes, 

Gently, tenderly. 

I shall sing a requiem for them, 

Low and sad, 

Like the dream of a desolate wind. 

I shall throw heavy shovels 

Of mud and pebbles 

Upon them, 

[5] 



V ANI T A S 

And fill their grave 

To the brim. 

I shall smoothen it 

With the back of my shovel. . . . 

I shall plant tall cypresses. 

Sleepy owls shall perch upon them. 

Passing winds shall pout their thin white lips 

Against their leaves, 

And whistle, 

The endless song of endless misery. . . . 

My friends and relatives — 

Particularly those who killed my dreams — 

Are cordially invited 

To attend the funeral services. 

They need not drag with them 

The awful burden of a tear. 



[6] 



V AN I T A S 



The Forgetful Owls 

Nightly, 

Silence summons to herself 

The Owls of the world, 

And whispers in their feathered ears 

The Truth of Things, 

Which they promise 

To repeat to Man 

When he wakes. 

But the Sun, 

The hater of Truth, 

Dazzles their round eyes, 

And they fall asleep, 

And dream — 

And forget. . . . 

And Man seeks — 

Seeks in vain 

What only Silence 

And the Owls know. . . . 



[7] 



V AN I T A S 



The Daisy Speaks 

What am I? 

The poets have named me 

A star, and a sun, and a ripple 

Of a silver and golden sea, 

And the amorous virgin 

Has kissed and caressed me, 

And asked of my petals 

Her fate; 

The rain has pattered on me 

With the rhythm 

Of quicksilver sticks 

On a drum, 

And the moon, 

An evening or two ago, 

Whitened and glared me so, 

I seemed a thin and shivering ghost! 

The Earth is whispering softly: 

This day, 

When shadows shall drop 

On her bosom, 

The granite-made hoof 

[8] 



V A N I T A S 

Of the mountainous cow 

Shall fall 

With the weight of a world 

On me, and render me 

Mud! 

But now — A windlet is sporting with me, 
And shakes me and shakes me, 
Like a silent and golden tongue 
Of an unseen bell! 



What am I? 



L»] 



V ANI T A S 



Faces and Souls 

Faces, faces, faces . . . 

An orgic dance of faces, 

An insane carnival of faces . . 

Mouths and cheeks and noses, 

And a crumbled Heaven of eyes,- 

Eyes that shine and dim, 

Like endless summer-fields 

Of twinkling fireflies 

Upon some moonless night — 

Eyes that seek and grieve, 

And laugh and weep, 

And stare at last 

Like oval chips 

Of frozen glass . . . 

Faces. 

And beneath them 

Souls — 

Small fearing souls, 

Thin, hungry souls, 

Phantom sphinxes, 

Obscene and cynical — 

Souls yearning and sobbing, 

[10] 



V AN I T A S 

And dying . . . 

Souls that spew forever 

Like slimy Crustacea, 

Stony masks of faces 

And skulk beneath them. 

Faces and souls — 

In a mad dance, 

In a wild carousel — 

Faces and souls, 

An infinite desert 

Of tombs and silences. . 



[11] 



V A N I T A S 



Time's Castanets 

Tipsy with my sweetheart's kisses, 

I whispered in her mouth — 

' ' Dearest — 

Our wonder Love — 

Is like yonder star — 

Immortal — ' ' 

Time, 

Hidden in a spider's web, 

Rattled castanets 

Of bones, 

And laughed. . . . 

I know not 

What my sweetheart heard — 
My whisper in her mouth — 
Or Time's castanets — 

But she wept — 



[12] 



V A N I T A S 



My Days Pass Me By 

My days pass me by — 

This one, on tiptoes, 

Like a forbidden hope — 

This — a clumsy villager 

Stamping wooden shoes 

Against curbstones — 

These — heavy and slow, 

Despaired insomnia 

Staring out of windows 

Counting stars — 

This — thin and shapeless, 

A bit of grayish cloud, 

That little winds puff on — 

These — bent with secrets and with cares, 

Like hunchback women parading. . . . 

My days pass me by — 

Some weeping bitterly 

Into half -closed fists, 

Some wriggling bony fingers 

On their pointed noses. . . . 

My days pass me by — 

The long cortege of mourners 

At my funeral. 

[13] 



V A N I T A S 



My Hopes 

My hopes are gay-painted moths. 
Voluptuous clowns, 
Fluttering to delirious music — 
But the red-eyed flame — 
Whistles and laughs — 
"Whistles and laughs. . . . 

My hopes are merry birds 

That sing their rapture 

To the skies — 

But the cat — 

The taciturn Sphinx — 

Watches, 

And her eyes 

Glitter — glitter. . . . 

My hopes are tiny starlets 

In the sand, 

Dancing cotillions 

To the sun — 

But the Night comes, 

[14] 



V AN I T A S 

And the winds blow, 
And the winds blow. . . 

My hopes — my hopes — 
My foolish little hopes. . 



| 15] 



V A N I T A S 



My Sweetheart Dreams 

The boat glides very softly 

Like some melancholy swan, — 

My sweetheart tears slowly 

The petals of a rose, 

And dreams — 

Dreams of other loves than mine. 



[16] 



V A N I T A S 



A Picture 

Three old men smoking pipes, 
And playing dominoes — 
One remembers a dead wife, 
One thinks of a tune he used to 

whistle, 
One has forgotten everything 
Save how to move correctly 
Black oblongs with white dots and 

lines — 
Three old men smoking pipes, 
And playing dominoes. . . . 



[17] 



V AN I T A S 



Douleur 

Why should my hopes 

Like yellow withered leaves 

Fall to the ground, 

And turn to mud, — 

While my regrets 

Must grow and blossom 

Like giant evergreens, 

And throw their dismal shadows 

Across my path? 



[18] 



V AN I T A S 



Modesty 

Let the vain bird 

Sing to all the winds 

His vulgar love — 

The love of butterfly 

Would wither, sorrowed, 

If the gentle roses 

Heard the flutter of his wings. 



19 j 



V ANI T A S 



Frivolity Punished 

The stars are frivolous tonight, 

Mocking the nakedness of trees — 

I shall punish them, 

I shall close my eyes, — 

They shall tumble like glass-beads 

Into the velvet-bag of Night! 



[20] 



V A N I T A S 



Weariness 

An ant, 

Tumbling into his cell, 

The last load 

Dropping out of his mouth. 



21] 



V ANI T A S 



Shadows 

The shadows of mountains 

Fall lighter than a robin's feather 

Upon the Earth — 

But the shadows of my thoughts 

Fall heavy and limp 

Like leaden corpses 

Upon my heart. 



[22] 



V AN I T A S 



Gloria Mundi 

A drunkard sits upon the grass 

And sings, between the hiccoughs, 

A vapid song — 

Underneath him, 

In the mud and slime of worms 

Rots Maestro 's throat, 

The greatest tenor of his age. 



[23] 



V ANI T A S 



You Pass Me On 

You pass me on — 

You go your little way, to laugh your little 

laugh, to shed your little tear — alone ! 
You pass me on — 
Though I am your brother- — flesh and blood 

and soul. 
To the dog you meet upon the road, you whistle, 

and smile if he follows — 
But I am as a stone that must be shoved aside to 

make a passageway — 
I — your brother! 

You have your little home, with closed shutters, 
You have your little nation, stuck upon a flag- 
pole, 
You have your little church with special hymns, 

your little god that blesses only you — 
And that's your life. 
And I am as a hated stranger to you — 
You would cheat me, you would mock me, 
You would starve me — for your little self! 

[24] 



V AN I T A S 

And yet I am your brother ! 
At your side I walk the stony earth, 
And the blood of your weary feet mingles with 
mine! 

I am your brother — 

Born with the morning hour, and dead with the 

night ! 
I am your brother for the space of a single day, 
And yet you spurn me! 

You pass me on — 

As though your hand could heal the deep 

wounds it makes, 
As though eternity were yours to be forgiven in ! 
You pass me on — 
And go to laugh your little laugh, to shed your 

little tear — alone ! 



[25] 



V A N I T A S 



You Were So Pure 

You were so pure, 

So exquisite, 

I feared to touch 

Your little hand, 

I feared to bend upon my knee, 

And swear eternal passion. 

You were so tender, 

So like the unblown bud 

Of a fragile rose, 

I dared not whisper, 

"I love you," 

That like some coarse wind 

I might not tear 

The delicate petals. 

And so I walked away, 

And wept my sorrow 

Into my hands. 

And now you're married — 
You gave a dowry, 
And bargained cleverly 
To be a wife. 

[26] 



V A N I T A S 

I saw you hang upon his arm, 
And look with amorous desire 
Into his eyes, — 
While he was yawning. . . . 
And so I walked away, 
And laughed my sorrow 
Into my hands. 



271 



V ANI T A S 



The Bachelor 

One evening in his youth 

As the waters were a-dancing 

To the music of the moon, 

He met a fairy, 

Golden-eyed and golden-haired, 

Who whispered playfully, 

"I love you!" 

And vanished. 

He has spent his life 

In search of her. 

He has asked a thousand girls, 

Golden-eyed and golden-haired, — 

"Do you remember, 

One evening long ago, 

As the waters were a-dancing 

To the music of the moon, 

You whispered, — " 

He's fifty now, 
Gray and rheumatic, 
And rather petulant; 

[28] 



V ANI T A S 

But still he hopes, 
Some happy evening, " 
When the waters are a-dancing 
To the music of the moon, 
He shall meet his fairy, 
Golden-eyed and golden-haired, 
"Who will whisper playfully, 
"I love you!" 



[20] 



V AN I T A S 



Success 

He considered life 

A towering mansion, 

And Man's purpose 

To reach its height . . . 

And so, 

He climbed, 

And climbed, 

And climbed, 

Until 

Bleeding and breathless 

He reached, 

At last, 

The rat-smelling 

Attic. . . . 



[30] 



V A N I T A S 



The Black Cat 

The Mice, 

The Inhabitants of the Earth, 

The cosmic Cellar, 

Are gnawing clamorously, 

And disturb 

The sleeping of the Stars — 

The Ancient G-uardian 

Swings his lantern — The Moon 

As he descends 

The mouldy steps 

Of Infinity ,— 

While the Black Cat 

Under his arm 

Meaws — meaws — 



[31] 



V ANI T A S 



The Candle and the Sun 

The sun raised his golden head 
Above the snow-bound parapets 
Of Eastern mountains, 
And smiled to the Earth below 
Still sleepy as himself. 

The candle in my room, 

Near-sighted, squinted, 

And sputtered in anger, 

Until she lay 

In sullen globs 

Upon the floor. 

u He's come again, the Libertine, 

From the night's wild revelry 

Among the oceans and the seas, 

The fickle courtesans. 

He's come again — 

To flatter with his myriad colors 

The siUy Earth. 

To turn the mud to gold 

And the wet grasses 

To diadems of pearls. 

He's come again — 

And I, the truth of things, 

[32] 



V ANITA S 

The herald of reality, 

Shall be as blind 

As some weary owl 

Hidden in forgotten ruins, 

And melt within the desert air 

From sheerest melancholy! 

Alas, such world. . . . 

Where Falsehood sits with gods in Heaven, 

Making merriment, 

While Truth, 

Imprisoned in a fist of brass, 

Must die in the orgic dances 

Of mad colors!" 

A sudden breath of wind, 

The master mocker, 

Blew,— 

A slender stream of smoke 

Arose, and filled the air 

With the acrid smell 

Of heavy tallow-wick. . . . 

The Sun, 

Now wide awake, 

Danced gaily 

On the snow-bound parapets 

With golden feet. . . . 

[33] 



V AN I T A S 



Dying 

The sun is falling 

Behind the Seas, 

Some blades of grass 

Shrink and curve; 

A rose is dangling 

Against its stalk, 

Like a head that hurts. 

A robin's notes 

Have vanished 

With the winds; 

Some footsteps 

Turn the corner, 

And a girl stands and weeps 

In a coffin 

Something lies outstretched, 

And candles burn. . . . 



[34] 



V A N I T A S 



The Sun, the Poet, and the Cow 

The Sun was sinking 
In gorgeous nonchalance — 
A god contented, 
Assured of endless life. 

In ecstasy the Poet 

Stretched forth his arms, 

And improvised in fervent verse 

A hymn of joy and reverence, 

And knelt 

And prayed. . . . 

The Cow, reclining on the grass 

A gracious queen, 

Upraised her head 

And blandly looked 

And thought: 

' ' How youthful is the race of man, 

And garrulous! 

Some day they'll learn 

That nothing is or matters 

[35] 



V AN I T A S 

Save to chew the cud 
In careless elegance, 
And sleep. ..." 

The Poet prayed on and on 
The Cow chewed on and on 
The Sun was sinking 
In gorgeous nonchalance, . 



[86] 



V ANI T A S 



The Loaded Dice 

I've lost — 

In spite of pains and labors, 

And eighty years of life, 

In spite of all applause, 

And busts and statues, 

I'm but a mass of bones 

Within an oblong box, 

And both to be dissolved together, 

And kneaded into mud, 

The muffled drum of the ages ' rain, 

A pathway for the lonesome cows 

For many generations — 

I've lost, 'tis true, 

But then — 

I played with God — 

And now I understand — 

His dice are always loaded! 



[37] 



V ANI T A S 



You and He 

You are a golden dream 
Walking through muddy streets, 
Raising your white silk dress, 
Daintily. 

He is a clumsy boar 

Walking through a golden dream, 

Shaking stupidly 

The sun-dipped particles 

From his paws. 



[38] 



V ANI T A S 



Divine Alms 

In the Winter, 

The trees are naked mendicants 

Lifting crooked hands 

In supplication. 

The gods are bountiful — 
They throw upon them 
Profusely, — 
Sleet and snow. 



39 J 



V A N I T A S 



Winter-Dreams 

The sleepy Earth, 
Draws over her face, 
The soft, white quilt, 
And dreams : — 
Blue and yellow daisies. 



[40] 



V AN I T A S 



The Lakelet Meditates 

I am the eternal Heavens, 

And the stars and the sun lie upon me 

More softly than the sudden dipping 

Of a swallow's wing — 

And above, in Infinite Space, 

An azure toy-mirror 

Eeflects me forever. . . . 



41 J 



V ANI T A S 



Absence 

When you are away, my love, 
The evil spirits of Things, 
Creep out like gray mice 
And make strange noises, 
Frightening me. 



[42] 



V AN I T A S 



O Diamond, Beautiful and Rare! 

diamond, beautiful and rare, 
Shining on my lady fair, 
As a mimic sun on earth, 
How can you know what gave you birth, — 
The eyes blinded for your sheen, 
The whetted hearts to make you keen, 
Virgins' love to build you white, 
Children's laughs to lend delight, — 
Within your tiny measured span, 
Lies a hecatomb of man! 

diamond, beautiful and rare, 
Shining on my lady fair, 
Could you but guess what gave you life, 
The blood, the agony, the strife, 
You would in utter pain and shame 
Burn your heart, within your flame, 
And fall black ashes on the floor, 
Avenger of the countless poor! 



[43] 



V AN I T A S 



Solitude 

The tides rise and fall, 

Rise and fall, 

Rocking all things on their soft breasts, 

Save me- — 

A silver-fingered wave 

Has dashed me on the shore, 

And left me 

The sport of sands — 

Alas, — what matters a shell 

To tides that rise and fall, 

Rise and fall. 



[44] 



VANITAS 



Subject for a Farce 

Night — 

An old woman sitting at the window — 

Dreaming . . . 

Suddenly, 

Softly, 

Her name is called — 

' i Florence : — Florence — Florence ! ' ' 

She shivers: — 

Rises — 

Bends out — 

A neighbor's window opens, 

A gentle voice whispers — 

"All right, dearest — come up — I am alone 

An old woman standing at the window, 

Dreaming. . . . 



? ? 



[45] 



V A N I T A S 



The Singer 

Daily, when the wives of men are busy, 

And rub their pots and clatter dishes, 

And scold and teach their little children, 

She comes into our yard and sings to us — 

A thin, uncertain voice that breaks 

And re-begins, and breaks again, 

She sings to us 

Of lads and lasses kissing, 

Of flowers, trees and eternal pledges, 

Of sun, and stars, and the roguish moons, 

Romances that mingle daily 

With the noises of pots and dishes, 

And the scolding of the little children. 

She sings to us — 

The aged hag, 

That smells of whiskey and of garlic, 

Hungered like some mangy dog, 

That prowls in the garbage cans, 

Swollen-eyed, toothless, 

Hideous in her piteous look — 

The ultimate dreg of human misery. 

She sings to us. 

[46] 



V A N I T A S 

I always throw a coin, 

Which rings with jubilance upon the asphalt 

floor, 
And watch her rush to get it, 
I feel so like some tiny godlet 
Who from a tiny heaven 
Showers blessings on the earth! 



[47] 



V ANI T A S 



Man and Superman 

Who is the Superman? 

What mighty giant 

Unmoved and solitary, 

Laughing as the gods can laugh 

In irony 

At the infinite circus of stars, 

That dance and fall and crumble, 

And learning the total purport 

In the melancholy music 

Of the lonesome winds? 

Who is the Superman? 

I know him not! 

He has not wept with me, 

And his blood in agony 

Has not mingled 

With mine ! 

He has not stooped 

In awe and utter ignorance 

Over blades of grass, 

Or forsaken shells 

Upon the shores. 

[48] 



V ANI T A S 

Has he trembled and shivered 

"With my fears? 

Has he shouted to dissolving clouds 

His hopes and his despair? 

Was he born of pain, 

And shall he die, 

As I must die, 

In anguish? 

Who is the Superman? 
I know him not! 

I know but Man — 

The weak, the fool, the clown, 

My enemy, my brother! 



[49] 



V AN I T A S 



My Heart 

My heart is a forest asleep 
With ghosts of desires and dreams 
Moaning their sorrowful tales 
To the nodding leaves. 

My heart is a sensitive drum 
And the hours, master musicians 
Beat their pleasures and pains. 

My heart is a diligent horse 
That drags his cart-load of blood 
In stupid submission — 

Alas ! he will grow weary — and fall ! 



[50] 



V AN I T A S 



My Ambition 

I have but one ambition — 

To be a red cloud, 

And hang a summer's night 

Upon the moon's chin, 

Like the unkempt beard 

Of a white-headed goat, 

And make the gods laugh, 

And the one-eyed stars dance, 

And the earth profound and scholarly, 

Dispute and theorize . . . 

Alas, my indolence. . . . 



[51] 



V AN I T A S 



I Am the Rebel 

I am the rebel! 

Not he who fights against a state, a king, a word, 

Not he who accepts himself, but refuses the 

things of man, 
Who says, "Change this — or this — and all is 

well!" 
I am the rebel against myself, 
Against the fates that bore me, against the gods 
That mocking make me laugh or weep. 
I hate the masters, 
I hate the forces that play with me 
As plays a little boy 
With card-board marionettes! 
The tiny wind holds sport, and drives me on, 
The threaded ray a thousand years a-distant 
Makes merry over my eyes, and orders 
"This shall be black for you, and this white!" 
The senseless stone commands my foot, 
The silly rain strikes my face as blindly as the 

earth, — 
Nay, I am not even a favorite among the toys 
That Nature makes to while away eternity ! 

[52] 



V A N I T A S 

I am the rebel — 

I hate life with her caprices and follies and 

tortures, 
I hate death — the reward of the fool, 
I hate the creator, blind and deaf and merciless, 
I hate myself, the product of a moment's game, 
That willed it,— " This shall you be — 
This body, these nerves, this blood, 
And these infinite traits and inheritances !' ' 
I would be beyond myself, a law omnipotent, 
A conscious god, master of all fates and forces ! 

I am the rebel — 

Blind and bound and powerless — 

Nailed to the cross, I wriggle still! 

Though it be my own self I torture, 

Though my fists strike back against my chest, 

I will not accept — I will not bow — 

Vanquished I disobey, 

Vanquished I fight and die 

THE REBEL! 



[53] 



V A NI T A S 



Resist All Evil 

" Resist not evil!" 

How well indeed for scoundrels! 

Slaves, your backs shall bend beneath their whip 

in joy, 
And pray it grow the stronger and the sharper, 
To prove you worthy martyrs to a tyrant's 

adage ! 

glittering words! 

O bitter warfare clad in peace ! 

Satan-smile beneath a god's decree! 

"Resist not evil!" 

That evil grow luxuriant, 

And they who perpetrate it grow rich and 

strong, 
Till changed shall be the dictum — 
"Fools, you can't resist the evil!" 

1 say — "Resist all evil!" 

Your cheek unturned, strike back the blow, 

The sword by sword shall answer! 

"Resist all evil!" 

Till evil hands fall leaden, 

And evil hearts turn dust! 

[54] 



V ANI T AS 



Youth 

Each man's youth is a butterfly, 

Many-colored and gay, 

But mine was gray-colored 

And wise — 

He alighted in a corner 

To watch the others 

Dance about the flames, 

And burn — 

He folded his wings — 

And thought 

And moralized — 

Until he grew stiffened and dry, 

And his little dust 

Fell into the palms 

Of a passing wind. 



[55] 



VANITAS 



Illusion 

Life was a weary trudging 
Through sticky mud — 
I yearned for Death, 
The golden wind, 
The ceasless merger of things — 
I thought I'd join the cosmos 
In her rapturous career, 
Dance cotillions with the stars, 
Kiss the red lips of moons, 
Scatter voluptuous perfumes 
From a rose's chalice. . . . 

Are the cracks in this mouldy wood 

The dancing stars? 

Are these scarlet worms, 

Crawling, heavily, 

Like pregnant things 

Upon my teeth, 

The lips of moons? 

Is my coffin the cosmos, 

In her rapturous career? 

7s there a cosmos? 

Death is as futile as Life ! 

[56] 



V AN I T A S 



Winter 

It is always Winter: — 

For, have not my hopes, 

Which were blossoming trees, 

Dropped all their leaves — 

And has not the Wind, 

Melancholy Sexton, 

Wound about their shrivelled limbs, 

A white shroud? 

And in my heart, 

Does not a thin wolf 

Howl. . . ? 



[57] 



V ANI T A S 



In Spring 

The things I loved, died — 

I dug a grave, 

And buried them, 

Tenderly, 

Like wounded hearts, 

With all the pomp 

Of tears and verse. 

"I'll return in Spring, 
And gather daisies, 
The gentle souls 
Of the things I loved." 

In Spring — 

I returned — 

And found upon the grave 

Of the things I loved — 

A dead rat, 

And stout, angry flies 

Devouring him — 

In Spring: — 

[581 



V ANI T A S 



Snobbery 

The artificial flower on the girl's hat 
Looks at the rose upon the stalk, 
And turns a dusty petal in disdain — 
"A vulgar plant, born in the mud, 
Too red, and spreading evil scents, 
Mistress of bees and butterflies, 
Inconstant, unashamed, 
Nodding to all the breezes . . . 
To-morrow she will wither. ..." 



[59] 



V ANI T A S 



Hot-House Dreams 

I dream of scarlet Autumns 
And white-mouthed Winds 
Whose long, cool kisses 
Lull to endless sleep . . . 
Alas, it's always Summer! 



[60] 



V AN I T A S 



The New Leaves 

The new leaves upon the trees 

Deeply-colored and firm, 

Challenge the winds of the Earth: — 

"You shall not wither 

And scatter us, 

As you have withered and scattered 

The leaves of other Springs!" 

The winds are very deaf! 



[61] 



V AN I T A S 



Surviver 

All the leaves have fallen 

Save one — 

Swinging, 

Dizzy and scared, 

In the winds. . . . 



[62] 



V ANI T AS 



Generation 

This is the meaning of a generation — 
A pebble thrown into a placid lake — 
A sudden spray, like a tiny wavelet, 
Trembling circles in quick succession — 

• ••«■• 
A placid lake. . . . 



[63] 



V AN I T A S 



Death 

Death is a white swan 
Sailing noiselessly — 
Leaving behind him 
Long, tremulous creases 
The creases smoothen — 
He sails noiselessly on. . 



[64] 



V ANI T A S 



Memories 

My memories were sharp-edged splinters 

Torturing me, — 

I plucked them out, 

And washed the blood away. 

Have splinters roots, 
That grow, 
And blossom, — 
Eancorous evergreens? 



[65] 



V ANITA S 



The Saintly Dog 

My lady's dog is always leashed — 

A perfect dog — 

A sinless dog — 

When he is dead — 

His soul shall enter Canine Eden, 

Where he will utter ceaselessly 

Echo-barks, 

And sniff forever 

Shadow females,— 

A joy eternal to his God. 



[66] 



V ANI T AS 



The World Is 111 

The world is ill — 

And the Rain falls softly, 

Softly, 

Like gentle nurses on tip-toes. 



[67] 



V AN I T A S 



Flirtation 

You are a dainty Birdlet 

Swinging giddily 

On the frailest twig — 

I am a gray-eyed Tom-Cat 

Watching ■ — 

Alas! You never fall. . . 



[68] 



V AN I T A S 



Old Age 

The Rock pleads ceaselessly ,- 

"Listen! 

Listen ! 

I was not always a rock — 

I too—" 

But the waves laugh 

And splash him 

With their foam. 



[69] 



V ANI T A S 



The Wind and the Leaves 

The wind sleeps lazily 
Among the leaves — 
The wind shall laugh 
In his dream — 
The leaves shall shiver, 
And fall. . . . 



[70] 



V AN I T A S 



Prudence 

I loved my days dearly, 
And would not squander them. 
I am old and dying, — 
Where are my days? 



I 71 J 



V AN I T A S 



A Shadow-Tree's Anxiety 

I hope the little gold fish 

Swimming in my branches, 

Never see my other self, 

Heavy and coarse, 

Stuck upon my head, — 

Why must Shadows have Realities 



[72] 



V A N I T A S 



The Builders 

All things I own 
Slowly turn to dust — 
When I get old 
I'll be the proud possessor 
Of a rising hill. . . . 
Is this how mighty gods 
Build skies and earths? 



[73] 



V ANI T A S 



Ghosts 

Dead leaves 
The wind rolls on, 
Scaring little birds 
That rocked on them. 



[74] 



V ANI T A S 



My Years 

My years fall softly, 

Softly, 

Like petals of a rose, 

And leave me, 

A barren, withered stalk 

That dangles in the winds. 



[75] 



V AN I T A S 



Ennui 

(a cloud's complaint) 

The feverish mouth of the Earth 

Breathes me forth, 

The silver toes of the Wind 

Toss me above the mountain peaks 

Where I roll and stiffen 

Into patches of gray and black — 

Then — 

I swell — 

And crack — 

And tumble 

In dizzy streams of warm water 

Back into the feverish mouth of the Earth 

I have done this since things began — 

How long more is eternity? 



[76] 



A New Mythology 



VAN I T AS 



God 

God is a little girl 

Dressed in azure clouds, trimmed with rain- 
bows — 
A little girl, gay and mischievous, 
That likes to play with mud, 
And fashion little earths with little people, 
Little skies with little stars, 
Whole little planetary systems — 
And then throws them high — high — 
And shouts in merriment 
To watch them glisten as they rip Infinity, — 
And fall — 
And crumble — 



[79] 



V AN I T A S 



The Moon and the Ocean 

The Moon, 
A yellow tom-cat, 
Struts moodily 
Across the world 
And bends 
Her frail roof. 

The ocean, 

Petulant neighbor, 

Nervous, unable to sleep, 

Scolds and clamors and swears,— 

Then weary, 

Spits upward, 

In jets of marble foam. 

The Moon, 

The old roue, 

Watches with desire 

The Earth below. 

The Ocean, 

Prudish maid, 

Hides her breasts, 

Feverishly, — 

But the winds, laughing, 

[80] 



V AN I T A S 

Blow off incessantly 
Her flimsy draperies. 

. • « * • 
The Moon, 
A golden hoop, 
Rolls unsteadily 
Upon the rugged edges 
Of the shivering clouds. 

The Ocean, 

Mischievous girl, 

Runs after — 

Her hands raised up 

To catch it, 

And shouts and laughs 

In utter merriment. 

The Moon 
The hoary recluse, 
Gazes calmly 
Across eternity, 
And meditates 
On Death. 

The Ocean, 

The Earth's demagogue, 

Silver-tongued, 

[81] 



V AN I T A S 

Harangues the winds, 
Persuading them 
To blow across the Moon 
And blind him. 

The Moon, 

The painted mountebank 

Of the infinite circus, 

Grins and bows 

To his celestial audience. 

The Ocean, 
A clumsy bear, 
Sways and dances 
To the bagpipes 
Of the merry winds. 

The Moon, 

A frozen Sun, 

Turning about the Earth 

In a senseless loop-the-loop. 

The Ocean — 

A salty mass 

Of steel-gray water 

Dashing forever 

Against her callous ribs. 

[82] 



VANITAS 



Opinion 

What Are the Stars? 

THE STARS: 

We are the Stars, 

Eternal and unquenchable! 
THE LAKE: 

The stars are silver fish 

Floating on their backs 

Like dead leaves. 
THE FIREFLIES: 

The stars are fireflies 

In neighboring fields. 
THE WOLF: 

The stars are shepherds' eyes 

Watching over flocks — 

But our feet 

Fall more softly 

Than shadows of lambs. 
THE MOON: 

The stars are bits of moons 

That crumbled. 

Alas! I too shall crumble 

Into stars. . . . 

[83] 



V ANI T A S 

THE MOUNTAIN PEAK: 

The stars are flakes of Snow 

Hardened against the clouds. 

In the Summer, 

They melt, 

And drop on me. 
THE OWL: 

The stars are the gods of owls 

Revealing the hidden nests 

Of mice. 

Blessed be the stars! 
THE WIND: 

The stars are lanterns 

Night, the sorceress, swings, 

As she seeks dead suns — 

At dawn, 

I blow them out. 
THE TREE: 

The stars are unripe cherries, 

Torn and scattered 

By the merciless wind. 

Black clouds crush them 

Beneath their hoofs. 
DESERT : 

The stars are the sands 

Of the Upper Desert. 

[84] 



V ANI T A S 

ETERNITY: 

The stars are hours 

In the trembling hands 

Of Time. 
THE SUN: 

Stars ? 

There are no stars! 



[85] 



V ANI T AS 



Opinion 

What Is the Sun? 

THE SUN: 

I am the Sun, 

Eternal and Unquenchable! 
THE LAKE: 

The sun is a thirsty deer 

Lapping my water, 

Greedily. 
THE FIREFLIES: 

Hail, Queen of Fireflies! 

When thou art shining, 

We hide, humble slaves, 

Within the grasses! 
SPRING: 

The sun is a bowl 

Of golden wine, 

Overspilling — 

Little birds drink of it, 

And grow mad. 
WINTER: 

The sun is a solitary gull 

Sailing on the crumbling crests 

Of snows. 

[86] 



V A N I T A S 

THE CLOUDS: 

The sun is a mighty thinker, 

And we are the shadows 

Of his thoughts. 
THE OWL: 

The sun is a keen-edged sword 

That pierces the eyes. 
THE FIELDS: 

The sun is a weary traveller 

Sleeping upon us. 
THE WOLF: 

The sun is the terrible eye 

Of the master 

Watching his sheep — 

Wise wolves hide. 
ETERNITY: 

The sun is a slow opening 

Of an eye — 

And then — 

Blindness. 
THE DESERT: 

The sun is the mighty Dragon, 

Slayer of the god of Waters. 
THE STARS: 

Sun? 

There is no sun! 

[87] 



V AN I T A S 



Day and Night 

An impish little god 

Has ripped the azure tent 

Of the cosmic circus, 

And peeps in 

And laughs — 

Flowers pout their lips 

And ask for kisses, 

Birds, vain troubadours 

Sing their amorous conceits 

Upon the flutes of breezes, 

And Man, the Cock of the World, 

Proclaims most pompously, 

"It's Day!" 

Soon, 

The solemn Master Clown 

Shall catch the little culprit, 

And pull him in, 

By the ear, 

All flushed with shame. . . . 

The sentimental flowers 
Shall droop their heads, 

[88] 



V ANI T A S 

And mourn 

Love's inconstancies, 

The Birds, chilly and hoarse, 

Shall hide 

Among the shivering leaves, 

And Man, 

The Dray-Horse of the World, 

Worn and sleepy, 

Shall grumble 

To the Winds, 

"It's Night!" 



[89] 



V A N I T A S 



Night 

The Sun is dead- — 

The Moon, 

The gloomy Sexton 

Has spread across the giant corpse 

A black drapery 

Of clouds, 

And lit 

About the rayless head 

White-flaming torches, 

And urged 

The garrulous Oceans 

To wail disconsolately 

And beat their hearts 

Against the rocks — 

Now, 

Like some pale anchorite, 

Who dead in faith 

Still counts the rosaries, 

He gazes at Infinity 

And counts the ribs 

Of sleeping leaves. . . . 

The cynical Winds 

Whistle and laugh. . . . 

[90] 



V AN I T A S 



Gods and Men 

I mused — 

The gods are cruel gods, 

And their murderous fingers 

Seek incessantly 

The throats of Things. 

But man is greater than the gods, 

And he can fashion 

Much nobler worlds. 

And from the clay of dreams 

I build me Sphere on Sphere 

Of beauty, 

And endless labyrinths 

Of Love. . . . 

At my feet, 

In painful disarray, 

Lay the fragments 

Of a rose, 

Which absent-mindedly 

I tore and pulled apart, 

While building worlds. . . . 

And then I understood — 

The gods are melancholy poets 

[91] 



V AN I T A S 

Dreaming — dreaming — 

Wondrous Worlds 

While absent-mindedly 

They blind a sun, 

And drop a star, 

And crumble little earths. 



[92] 



V A N I T A S 



Atlas 

Atlas passed me by — 
Old and ragged and weary 
And bent so low, 
He seemed a giant dog, 
Whose wounded forepaws 
Dared not touch the ground. 
I know not what he saw — 
The cracked asphalt, 
That unwound itself, 
And spread away 
Like broken tides 
Of a silent sea, 
Or the ceaseless procession 
Of leathered feet, 
Or his own shadow, 
Black and flattened 
Like a soul oppressed — 

Atlas passed me by — 
Carrying on his back 
A sack of coal — 
The heavy debris 

[93] 



V A N I T A S 

Of a burnt-up star — 

And at each step 

He grumbled and swore 

As of yore, 

When on his mighty nape 

The cosmos danced — 

While the eternal gods 

Now dwelling on the Earth 

Still feast and laugh 

As of yore. . . . 



[94] 



V A N I T A S 



Snow 

The Virgin Goddess of the Clouds, 
Opens wide her casement, 
And throws white roses 
To her lover, the Earth — 
White roses — white roses — 
Gardens of white roses — 
But the boorish Earth, 
Shivers and grumbles: 
" It 's snowing again ! ' ' 



[95] 



